


House Post-Episode Fics, Seasons 7 and 8

by cuddyclothes



Series: House Post-Episode Fics, Season 7 and 8 [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Anger, Beer, Fluff and Smut, Gay, M/M, Post-episode Season 7, Season 8, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 10,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddyclothes/pseuds/cuddyclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are a series of post-episode fics I wrote starting in Season 7, mostly for catharsis.  But also for entertainment.  House and Wilson are a long-standing couple.  Nothing in the actual episode is changed, but this is the side we didn't see.</p><p>There is a brief summary in each of the introductions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S7x7  "A Pox On Our House" - A Few Hours Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl is admitted with symptoms that appear to indicate smallpox, and the CDC institutes a lock-down. However, House is skeptical. When the doctor in charge forbids House's team from diagnosing, seemingly at the risk of his own life. Meanwhile, Wilson and Sam re-examine their relationship. House worries that Cuddy has uncovered his deception with a previous patient and the effect it will have on his relationship. 
> 
> House and Wilson get together for a few beers after Wilson has suggested his ex-wife Sam get pregnant.

"You will not _believe_ what stupid thing I said to Sam this afternoon," Wilson said, holding a beer in both hands. He sat on the edge of House's piano bench.  
  
"Can't be any worse than me groveling to Cuddy.  She's still pissed that I lied to her to save a patient.  First she tells me that 'personal and professional are two different things', but she's changed the rules.   Again." House was on his third beer, sprawled on the couch.   "So what stupid thing did you say?"  


"I suggested to Sam that we get pregnant." Wilson ducked his head.  
  
House sat bolt upright.  "Are you _retarded_?  Well, we already knew that, but what were you  thinking?  This is your fourth soon-to-be-ex, you're both in  your forties, and _now_ you want to be a father?"  
  
"I'm not too old--"  
  
 "Jesus, Wilson, do you have _any idea_ how old you'll be when she graduates elementary school?  When she graduates college, you'll be using a walker and drooling on yourself.  At least she'll still be in the prime of her youth when she packs you off to the nursing home.  Or he.  I don't want to be offensively sexist."  
  
"Just by existing you're offensively sexist." Wilson looked at House.  "What have I done?  We'd been with a little sick patient, we were feeling great, and I...she...I said we should get pregnant."  
  
"You don't get pregnant, you get her pregnant, moron.  You'll be the perfect house husband, pun intended." House drained his beer and painfully got up to go to the kitchen.  "What kind of man are you, Wilson?  Don't answer that."  
  
 "Me?  You're the one who willingly handed his testicles over to Cuddy."  
  
"You mean my penis." House grabbed a beer out of the fridge and popped off the metal cap by slapping it with his hand against the counter.  
  
 "That's where you _started._ Now she's got your balls as well. 'Oh, Cuddy, forgive me, please have sex with me, please.' It can't be that good.  Do the two of you even talk to each other afterwards?"   Wilson leaned back against the piano, being careful not to set his beer down on either the bench or the instrument.  
  
House stared into space.   "No.  Wilson, she's not that interesting when she's not at work.  But neither am I.  We agreed not to talk about work, so the only noises we make are grunts, moans and the occasional ecstatic scream.  When she said we had nothing in common, that was an understatement.  Take our crotches out of the equasion..." his voice trailed off.  He leaned against the kitchen counter, seemingly studying the takeout menus on the fridge.  "See these magnets?" he said abruptly.  "I had NASCAR fridge magnets.  Monster truck magnets.  Now, Cuddy gave me one of those poem word sets, so now I have to look at 'love', 'tree', 'butterfly.' 'Barf'."  
  
"Women..." Wilson muttered.  
  
He stood, and walked over to where his friend leaned against the counter.   "House, I have a proposition to make."  
  
 "Wilson, I'm not that kind of girl."  
  
 "Oh-hoh,  yes you are." Wilson grinned.  "Usually we have sex on the anniversary of Elvis's death, right?  I propose that we _don't_ wait this time.  I think both of us need a good lay.  And we can talk afterwards.  If you want, that is.  I promise not to want cuddling."  
  
House visibly brightened.  Putting down his beer on the counter, he put one arm around Wilson's shoulder and kissed him. In a matter of nanoseconds they were making out like horny teenagers.  
  
 "I--I don't see how it could hurt to break tradition," House gasped.  "And we don't have to use birth control."  
  
"Come on, you big man-whore, let's see how can scream the loudest."  
  
Arms around each other, kissing so hard they almost lost their balance, House and Wilson made their way to the bedroom.  
  
  "Bonus points if we yell out each other's girlfriend's names when we come, "said Wilson.  
  
"Double bonus points if we call _each other_ our girlfriend's names."  
  
 "Ýou're a sick man, House."  
  
 "That's why you love me."


	2. S7 x 8 Small Sacrifices - A Few Minutes Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House, Cuddy, Sam, Wilson, and the team attend the Chairman of the Board‘s wedding, and Wilson's relationship with Sam unexpectedly changes, while Taub questions his wife's friendship with a member of her infidelity support group. After getting caught up in another lie, House can’t convince Cuddy that “work lies” should be treated differently from “relationship lies” and instead has to try to convince Cuddy that she will lie to serve her own purposes when it suits her. 
> 
> What happened after House threw Wilson out.

There was a moment of silence. House thought to himself, _I just threw out my best friend for a woman who's made me miserable ever since we hooked up? What is wrong with me?_

"What is wrong with you, House?" yelled Wilson, storming back into the apartment. He glared at House. "I don't believe you! I put up with your shit for years, you come crying to me every time you get a boo-boo," Wilson threw up his hands. "Then, I come to you with a real moment of heartbreak--"

"Oh come on, Wilson, the worst you could call it is heartbent."

"Semantics!" Wilson dropped onto House's couch and folded his arms. "The fact is, I needed you tonight, and you told me to get lost! For Cuddy, for God's sake! You don't get pussy for a week and you cave? Again? How about calling her and, oh, I don't know, saying you have a friend in crisis, could she perhaps come an hour later?? Get me a beer, Mr. Castrati."

"God, first Cuddy, now you. Wilson, you're being as much of a diva as she is." House handed him a beer. "Maybe I should to lie to you. Make you go away for a week."

"Please. If I had a dollar for every time you lied to me, I'd have all of the money you owe me. Jesus, House. I loved Sam."

House grinned. "You're already talking about her in the past tense, Wilson. Now I can tell you she looked like a manatee." He lifted his beer. "To love. It sucks. "

"It sucks." Wilson lifted his beer in answer. " _You_ wouldn't leave me over a stupid argument about nothing."

"And _you_ wouldn't withhold sex if I lied to you and didn't apologize."

Wilson sighed. "If I did, we'd never have sex." He looked up at House. "Come on, be a friend. Tell her to come over later."

"Why?" There was suspicion in House's tone, but he smiled.

"You have a heartbroken friend who needs consoling. A shoulder to cry on. Someone to lean on. Someone to undress. Someone to...well..." He paused. "Said friend wouldn't withhold sex. In fact, said friend needs to have his heartbreak diverted by sex." Wilson reached out and hooked a finger into House's waistband. He gave House a seductive smile. "My heart is broken, after all."

House slowly slid down onto the couch next to Wilson and put his arm around his friend's shoulders. "Yeah, I can feel it," he said, unbuttoning one button of Wilson's shirt to slide his hand in over Wilson's chest. Wilson shivered with pleasure. "Nice big heart you've got there."

"It's not the only thing that's big," Wilson said, reaching over and gently rubbing the crotch of House's tuxedo pants. "You looked so hot tonight, you know that, don't you?"

"Ooooh, yeah... gimme a minute." House grabbed his cell phone with his free hand and punched a button with his thumb.

"Hi," he said tenderly. "I'm really sorry, but something's come--up--and I need to make it ten o' clock, okay?" House listened. "Oh, well, if that's too late, maybe we should wait until tomorrow."

Wilson slowly kissed down House's neck. House pulled away, giving Wilson a warning glance. "I know, but it's not a good time. Oops! My pager! I think Masters hit puberty! Gotta go! See you in the morning!"

The cell phone dropped from his hand. "Who's being diverted now?" House's head lolled back against the couch. He winced as Wilson continued to rub his groin. "Jesus, Wilson, if I'd stayed on the phone, I'd start making squealing noises. Which might tip her off."

Wilson smiled. "Who cares?"

House pulled Wilson's face toward his gently and kissed him. "She'll never know. It's just a little white lie."


	3. S7 x 9 Larger Than Life - The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House’s hypochondriac clinic patient turns out to be Cuddy’s Mom and he finds himself at a loss for words when he’s required to sit in on Cuddy’s birthday dinner with her mother and Wilson. 
> 
> What happened to Wilson after Cuddy's birthday dinner. He goes to House to grovel.

God, _The Real Housewives of New Jersey_ was a good show. House wondered if he should look on his computer to see if they had posted a new episode of _Hoarders_ yet on aetv.com. He enjoyed thinking of all of the diseases a person could catch in those environments.

His cell phone rang. Wilson.

“House, can I come over?”

“No. I’m with Cuddy.”

“No, you’re not. I can hear Sarah Jessica Parker hawking wrinkle cream in the background. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Shit. Brother couldn’t get one evening to himself, without listening to either Cuddy whining about not cuddling enough or Wilson whining about not cuddling enough.

When he answered the door, House saw that Wilson was pale and red-eyed. _Oh, God, please don’t let him be crying_ , House thought. _It’s bad enough with Cuddy._

“Wilson, if you’re rending your garments, you’ll have to go to another house.”

“House—House—I’ve done a terrible thing,” Wilson gasped. “I can’t even believe it myself!”

“Pretty boy kill again?”

“I wish!” Wilson dropped onto the couch without taking off his coat, and took a long pull straight from the bottle.   “What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking, I was lonely, I was pissed at you, I wanted to bitch-slap Cuddy until she cried like a girl—“

“You’re the one who’s crying like a girl,” House observed.

“I’m not crying! I’m—I’m—oh, God, you’ll never want to speak to me again!”

This caught House’s attention. He sat down next to Wilson. “After all of these years, what could you have possibly done that would make me never want to speak to you again?”

Wilson turned his pale, sweaty face toward House.

 _“I slept with Cuddy’s mom. Arlene.”_ His brown eyes wore a look of agony.

House felt his stomach drop six floors. “You—you slept with Cuddy’s mom?”

“I want to take a blow-torch to my dick!”

“You…slept…with…Cuddy’s **mom**??”

“That’s why she apologized to you. That’s why she was in such a great mood. She was **post-coital**. Remember, after we came to, she was still woozy? I offered to drive her to her hotel. Then we sat in the hotel bar to have a drink. I don’t know, I felt bad about the dinner. We got into an argument about the fact that being Jewish is passed down from the matrilineal line, so technically Cuddy isn’t Jewish. Arlene said what did I know about anything, and I said I was a _real_ Jew, not a goy pretending to be a Jew—“

“I think I see where this is going,” House said numbly.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. “We started quoting the Torah at each other and she was pronouncing everything _wrong_ and when I corrected her she called me a conceited little _yeshivabucher_ —and then suddenly we were making out like crazy and—and I went up to her room.” Wilson paused. “She is one fine piece of ass, House.”

“Do _not_ put that mental image in my head!”

“I’ve betrayed you, I’ve betrayed Cuddy, I’ve betrayed my race, I’m sure I’ve betrayed several commandments—“he broke off abruptly. “I thought Cuddy’s sister was named Julia. Lucinda?”

House crossed his arms. “Don’t think about that stuff. It’ll make you crazy. Wilson, look. You did a stupid thing. An unbelievably stupid thing, even for you. At least you didn’t marry her—“ House stopped, horrified. “You’re not going to see her again, are you?”

“No. I gave her a fake phone number.”

House thought for a long moment. “So, you fucked Arlene. A _ shande_ **.** There’s only one thing for you to do about it.”

“Anything, House, I’ll do anything!”

“You need to take a _[Mikva](http://www.factacular.com/facts/mikva)_  t o wash off all of that _tref_. But...”

“What?”  
  
          “You need someone of your faith to scrub it off.”

“I’m not asking Taub.”

“Well, in the absence of a suitable Jew, a person of no religious affiliation may be substituted. It’s in the Torah. Can’t remember which of the 617 rules it is.” House ran his hand over the back of Wilson’s head.

“Don’t worry, House, it’s a footnote. Come on, let’s get me cleaned up. And don’t forget my private parts. They’ll need special attention.”

“[ _Bei mir bist du shayn_](http://www.factacular.com/facts/bei_mir_bist_du_shayn), Wilson,” House said, giving Wilson a gentle peck on the cheek.

“ _Ich lib hobn dich, House_.” 

“ _Ich lib hobn dich,_ too.” 


	4. S7 x 11 Family Practice - Some Time Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddy's mother Arlene is back, and Cuddy insists that House deal with her mother's recent symptoms by coming up with a diagnosis that will satisfy her. Cuddy forbids House from relying on a diagnosis of psychosomatic illness. Meanwhile, Arlene reveals that she has had a lengthy affair with a married man that she has frequently discussed with Julia but kept from Lisa, leaving Lisa to wonder how close her relationship to her mother really is. However, when Mother Cuddy throws House off of her case, House must play on the fears of his entire team in order to make one desperate stab at treating her.
> 
> How was your night, House?
> 
> My apologies for this being out of order. It's hard keeping track!

“Geez, that was some storm, House,” Wilson said. He was holding his overcoat, standing in House’s office. “I could hardly sleep with all of that thunder. But it’s a beautiful day. How was your night? You look like crap.”

House leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Hmm,” he murmured. “How was my night? I spent the night with Arlene.”

Wilson dropped his coat in surprise. “House! You too? Were you high?”

“Unlike you, I wasn’t in the throes of drunken Yiddish passion." He sighed. "Arlene had heart problems and Cuddy brought her here. Then assigned me as her doctor, then unassigned me, then secretly assigned me behind the assigned doctor’s back—“

“Wait, I think I need a notepad.” Wilson sank down in the chair opposite the desk. “You’re kidding me, right? I mean, that’s just crazy.”

“Yeah, and then we secretly swapped out her drugs but they made her sick so Cuddy swapped them back and she got more sick—god, it’s all one swirling mess in my head—and I thought she had leukemia—“

“Hold it right there!” Wilson raised his hands. “She had cancer and you didn’t think to call, oh, say, an oncologist?”

“Cuddy was losing her shit If I brought you into it, it would have been losing her shit squared plus you might have been one of the hordes running around Princeton Plainsboro committing ethics violations. Then Arlene demanded to leave, Cuddy ordered her to stay, I figured out it was heavy metal toxicity—“

“Isn’t it always,” Wilson mused.

“The only fun part was making Masters puke. Oh, and yelling at Cuddy a couple of times that she was going to kill her mother. You should have seen her face.” House grinned. “I’ve done it thousands of times and she’s gotten pissed, but it’s different when it’s Arlene. To think, in one night I probably made more ethical violations than the entire staff of St. Luke’s/Roosevelt. Kind of makes a fellow proud. And tired as hell.” He paused. “And then the sun came out. The last time I looked Cuddy was all smiles with that crazy bitch mother of hers. You know, Cuddy's got a younger sister, and none of them look like each other, and they sure as hell don't look like Arlene. I should run a DNA test. See what you missed?”

Wilson smiled. “It would have been worth it to see Cuddy lose her shit. What are you doing now?”

House gave his friend a long look. “Going home to a lonely apartment…dirty dishes…unmade bed…beer bottles around…”

“Sounds like heaven.” Wilson stood up, walked around the desk and gave House a peck on the lips. “I’ll drive.”

As they walked toward the elevator, Wilson stopped. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Between Arlene, Masters, and Cuddy, I couldn’t have handled another female.” House slapped Wilson lightly on the ass.

“Fuck you, House.”

“Up yours, Wilson.

“Soon enough.”

They both smiled contentedly as the elevator doors closed.


	5. S7x12 You Must Remember This -Nine Days Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House gave Wilson an ultimatum to get laid in 10 days. What happens if Wilson doesn't? From a prompt by Dee_Laundry.

“So,” House said over lunch in the cafeteria. “Today is day Nine. How is the pussy? And I don’t mean your cat.” He gave Wilson an evil look, ready to pounce.

“Sarah is fine, thanks.”

Instead of the glare House expected, Wilson had a beaming smile.

“So, have you made your goal? You’ve only got one more day.”

“It’s your goal, not mine, House.” Wilson’s smile grew wider. “Remember when you demanded I buy one piece of furniture for the condo, and I bought the organ?”

“Yeah. I hardly got to use the organ, and no, that’s not a metaphor. Although it could be if you got me drunk enough.”

Wilson leaned back, watching House eat half of his tuna fish sandwich. “Well, I bought the organ. Not for me. For you. Because it made me happy.”

“Before everything went to shit,” House said with his mouth full. He didn’t like Wilson’s tone at all. It didn’t have the right groveling sound.

“This time, you demanded I get laid in ten days. I’ve usually done—no, I’ve always done-- what you wanted.” Wilson spread his arms, laying his hands on either side of the formica table. “Sorry, House, but I’m forfeiting the challenge. You win.”

House felt both astonished and betrayed. “You can’t forfeit! We had an agreement!”

“Since when have you honored an agreement?” Wilson stared him in the eyes. “You moved out when I asked you to move out. And by that I mean you took your stuff and left that same day like a spoiled teenager. I tried to work things out, but you’re so demanding there was no way I could have both you and Sam under the same roof. Since you hooked up with Cuddy, you’ve pushed me away. You mocked me for being upset about the breakup with Sam. You mocked me for having a cat. You’ve only spent time with me to bitch about your ‘great love.’”

“Wilson—“

“And now you want to be the puppet-master of my sex life.” Still not breaking eye contact, Wilson stood up, tossing his paper napkin on the table. “Screw you, House. You know ‘moving on’ is only a euphemism for cowardice.”

Wilson stalked out of the cafeteria, leaving House alone with the other half of the sandwich.


	6. 7 x 13 Two Stories - Ten Minutes Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to do a good deed, House agrees to attend a career day at an exclusive private school and proceeds to tell various medical stories of questionable accuracy to the children. In the process, House also pokes fun at various cultural references, such as the movie "A Few Good Men" and "Pulp Fiction." However, the experience for everyone involved soon starts to resemble a disaster movie of epic proportions. House tells Cuddy he needs her. To show her his commitment, he shows her a toothbrush he bought to keep in her bathroom.
> 
>  
> 
> What happened when House went to Wilson's office.

House triumphantly entered Wilson’s office. “She bought it. Hook, line, sinker, and boat.”

“That ‘I need you’ crap? Seriously?” Wilson watched his friend settle on the office couch.

“I even told the tight-assed principal at the school. She’s going to be on the phone to Cuddy tomorrow morning, telling Cuddy what a great catch I am. So sensitive.”

Wilson snorted. “How did you keep a straight face?”

“You would have loved it.” House gave Wilson a basset-hound stare. “I need you in my life. And to show it I…I bought a toothbrush.”

“Stop it, House, or I’ll puke on my desk.” Wilson sighed. “Why you put yourself through all that crap for Cuddy, I’ll never know.”

“Look who’s talking—the poster man-child for putting the mate’s needs before your own.”

“I wish you’d gone with your other notion and pulled a dead mouse out of your pocket instead of a toothbrush.”

House shook his head. “No. That was only funny because we were naked and drunk, Wilson.” He leered at his friend.

“Everything’s funny when we’re naked and drunk. We should get naked and drunk more often. How about tonight? I can be funny at a moment’s notice.”

House slumped on the couch. “Can’t. Made a dinner date, sealed with a toothbrush.”

“B-but…I need you, House.” Wilson made an exaggerated pout. “I need you in my life. I need you in my world. I need you the most in my pants. Or, your pants. You choose.”

House frowned. “Sometimes your ideas work too well, you know that, Wilson?” He got to his feet.

“How about tomorrow?” Wilson turned back to his paperwork.

“Sure. 7 o’clock, I’ll bring the beer. Prepare to get very, very funny.” House breezed out of the office door, humming “I Need You” by the Beatles.


	7. S7 x 14  Recession-Proof - The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddy wins an award and wants House to attend the presentation and seemingly will go to any length to make sure he shows up. However, it appears House has plans to make the award ceremony a night to remember. However, he is forced to choose between a dying patient and Cuddy.

His head felt like a buzz saw was cutting through it. Each shaft of light, each clank of metal, each screech of gurney wheels made him squint and wince. The sunglasses didn’t help. His mouth was parched and tasted like something had died in his stomach.

House remembered waking up on Cuddy’s couch, alone. Then retching up the booze in a few great heaves and collapsing on the bathroom floor. Cuddy was gone when he came to, and the smell of cooking oatmeal made him start retching again. But there was nothing in his stomach to bring up. Shakily, he took a shower, put on the clothes he had been wearing the night before, and made his way to work.

Wilson was waiting for him in his office. “So…” he said, choosing his words carefully. “How did it go last night?”

House had no idea what he meant. “How did what go? My patient died. I didn’t go to the party.”

“Yeah, I know.” Wilson was looking at him more closely. “Sorry about your patient.”

House took off his sunglasses and winced at the light, even though his office blinds were drawn. “Nothing happened, Wilson. I had a few drinks and went to Cuddy’s. I’ve got a bitch of a hangover.” He turned and looked at Wilson. “Why do you ask?”

Wilson shrugged. “No reason. No reason at all. See you at lunch.”


	8. S7 x 15 Bombshells: Role Model

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After House and Cuddy break up, we get the real story behind House's motives. He's been trying to model himself after Wilson.

House was still sitting on the bathroom floor when he heard Wilson pounding at the door. Slowly he dragged himself off, his leg spasming, and hop-limped to let Wilson in.

“How are you doing? I got a call from Cuddy’s sister. How did she find out about the Vicodin?” Wilson examined House closely as he spoke.

“Rachel almost took some, I said something stupid, Julia told Cuddy about my ‘sleeping pills’, and that was it. Cuddy broke up with me. Aw, shit.” House rubbed his face. “That was so…moronic.”

Wilson put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, House, sit down and I’ll get you a beer. How much Vicodin have you had?”

“Who cares?” House slumped on the couch, staring into space. Wilson sat down next to him, still with his raincoat on, the beer forgotten.

“House, you had to know it was going to blow up in your face eventually,” he said gently. “Didn’t she ever notice that you were hardly limping any more? That you were more cheerful? That you were able to climb under a bed?” Wilson shrugged. “How could she _not_ know you were on Vicodin?”

“It’s your fault,” House grumbled.

“It’s my fault that I gave you the prescriptions, but it was your fault that you were trying to be the East Coast MVP of boyfriends. I mean, House, watching you for the last couple of months has been—“ Wilson raised his hands, palms up—“excruciating.   When you weren’t having sex, how much time were you actually happy? Because if you were, you had a damn strange way of showing it.”

“I know,” House said after a moment. “I kept thinking, ‘how would Wilson handle this? Who else knows needy like Wilson’?” He looked at Wilson. “That’s weird, right?”

Wilson leaned comfortably next to his friend so that their shoulders were touching. “No. You’ve watched me tie myself in knots for one woman after another. Talk about a bad role model.”

“Yeah, you _sucked_. Do you get this pissed at the women you love?”

“Not at first, but then…yeah.” Wilson sighed. “It always happens.”

“I got so sick of that ‘I’m pissed at you’ face and half the time I didn’t know why. Cuddy and I have been single too long. I love her, Wilson, but I’m not sure I’m in love with her. The Vicodin made it so much easier to be… _you_.” House rubbed his face again, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “It made me feel so much less pissed, like I could do anything she wanted me to.”

“House, you and I know there’s not enough Vicodin in the world to make you into _Lucas_.”

House smiled for the first time, looking at Wilson affectionately. “For one thing, I’m way too tall.”


	9. S7x 16: Out of The Chute: Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after House leapt off the hotel balcony into the pool. Wilson watches, traumatized, then does something about it. Warning: super-dramatic, over-the-top, don't step on my id, please.
> 
> Below the story is the song House quotes. The lyrics sprang into my head while I was writing, so I tracked it down.

Wilson had turned to walk away, listening to the screaming and splashing. He thought he might vomit. Working in a hospital, Wilson had seen the aftermaths of many “jumpers”, and—his brain stopped there.

“WHOA, DUDE, JOIN THE PAR-TAY!” A strong pair of hands whirled him around, and he was staring at a large drunken college student with horse-teeth. “GET YOUR DRINK ON!”

“Get away from me!” Wilson tried to shake him off. The student must have been on the football team. He was that strong. Whooping, the student picked up Wilson, marched purposefully to the pool, and dropped him in. 

Wilson hit the water with a splash, his overcoat floating out on either side of him like huge wool flippers. Wilson kicked his feet as the water soaked through his clothes. The water was heated; it felt like being in a huge tub of warm pee. His head was still above water and it was shallow enough to stand. Probably about five feet deep.

“Hey, Wilson!” A jubilant House was dog-paddling toward him. “Glad you joined the party, dude!”

Wilson glared at House, filled with such outrage that he could barely speak. House swam up to Wilson and around his friend, splashing his face as House dog-paddled. How could House not know how to really swim? That made it even stupider, for God’s sake!!

“YOU SHIT-HEAD!” Wilson screamed. “YOU MORONIC SHIT-HEAD! YOU SHOULD BURN IN HELL!”

House’s smile didn’t crack. “Chill, dude! Besides, you're a Jew, you don't believe in--”

“You’re not some idiot eighteen-year-old—“ screw the lecturing, House had gone so too far this time he might as well have been across state lines. Wilson lunged at House, grabbed the top of his head, and pushed it underwater. And held it there. He felt House struggling, grabbing at Wilson’s overcoat, air bubbles coming up in bursts. 

No one in the crowd noticed, of course. They were too busy drinking, yelling and generally acting like--well, drunk college students. Wilson let go, and House came up, spluttering, eyes wide.

“Jesus, Wilson, you almost—“

“Drowned you? Drowned you?” Wilson again grabbed House’s head and pushed him underwater. Let House grab his overcoat and tear at his hands, Wilson was too enraged to care. “Motherfucker!” he yelled at the top of House’s skull. “Die, you sick sonovabitch! Go ahead and die!” His voice cracked.

When House came up again, he looked scared. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Yes!”

House found the bottom of the pool and stood, moving away from his infuriated friend. “Why? It’s party time, Wilson!” He tried a careless smile but failed miserably.

Wilson splashed water on his own face to calm down. His wet coat had slowly drifted down to his sides. “You are such an asshole, House. Did you even know I was down here?”

“I think I saw you when I passed the third floor.”

“That was not okay! Now I’m sorry you didn’t hit the concrete. This isn’t something I can just shrug off, ‘oh, my friend tried to commit suicide but it was just a big dramatic FAKE-OUT!’ No, House, I am stuck with remembering those five seconds over and over. You—you—you—if you don’t understand, you’re not worth killing. Good bye.”

Wilson waded toward the shallow end of the pool, coat and suit coat dragging behind him like a soaked royal robe. House followed. Before Wilson could start up the steps out of the pool, House slid his arms around Wilson’s chest, under Wilson’s arms.

 _“Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water, come back here, man, gimme my daughter, Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water,”_ House whispered in Wilson’s ear, _“come back here, man, gimme my daughter. Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water, come back here, man, gimme my daughter.”_

Wilson slumped back against House and started to cry. They stood there, surrounded by the party House had started.


	10. S7 x 18 The Dig - Later That Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after House dropped off Thirteen

Wilson was waiting for him in his apartment, sitting on the couch and holding a cold beer. The “Soft Rock” channel on Music Choice was droning in the background.

“The Backstreet Boys?” House asked. “Seriously?”

“So, how did it go with Thirteen?”

House shrugged. “She euthanized her brother. Because he had advanced Huntingtons. She pled down to overprescribing.” He was exhausted, and annoyed he hadn’t been able to whip that punk’s ass in the spudgun contest.

“Oh-hoh!” Wilson raised his eyebrows. “So has everybody on your team killed somebody now? Let’s see. Cameron, Chase, Foreman—“he paused, and grinned. “Wait, Thirteen already killed a patient! That paralyzed guy.”

House sagged down on the leather couch and put his arm around Wilson’s shoulders. “Yeah, it’s like potato chips. You can’t stop at just one.”

Now Cher was belting “I Found Someone”. Better than the Backstreet Boys. House reached for the remote but Wilson snatched it away.

“Hey, it’s Cher!”

“Fag.”

“Fag-hag. Has Taub killed anybody?”

“No, but I wish he’d murder that whiny wife of his.”

Wilson got up to them both beers. “Masters hasn’t killed anybody.”

“I’m surprised nobody’s killed her.”

“I heard your patient—or is it their patient?—was a hoarder. Did she try to keep all of her used IV bags?”

“She miscarried three times.” House accepted the beer. He shifted as Wilson sat down. Then House smiled, leaned over and gave Wilson a peck on the lips. “Her dumbass husband didn’t know.”

“Well, if she hadn’t been a hoarder, hiding those bloody sheets would have been a real bitch.” Wilson leaned his head back on House’s outstretched arm.

“At least you don’t have to try to kill anybody,” House observed.

“That’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.” House took a long pull on his beer, and ruffled Wilson’s hair with his free hand. “Foreman better not take this chance to pounce on her grieving butt. Then I’ll have to eradicate him.”

Wilson sighed. “The way Taub and Foreman have been looking at each other, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Speaking of butts, how about you get out of those dirty jeans—“

“And into a clean bed? Wilson, that’s a cliché. Oh, not Phil Collins! That’s just plain wrong!” House reached for the remote, but Wilson held it out of reach.

“What’s wrong with Phil Collins?”

“He’s annoying. He sings like he doesn’t have any testicles.” House waited a moment. “I’m surprised you’re not saying ‘speaking of testicles—‘”

“You’ve made me think about Phil Collin’s testicles. Kinda ruins the mood.”

Now it was Whitney Houston singing “Where Do Broken Hearts Go.”

House slid closer, laying his head on Wilson's shoulders. “It’s karaoke music. Kills any mood...except mine when I’m around you. Not even Stevie Wonder would kill my mood. Hey, Wilson, what do you think it would be like, to be blind and have sex?”

“Shut up. Anyway, your bed isn’t clean, House. I was going to say, out of those dirty jeans and into my mouth.” Wilson paused. “But you’re gonna have to take a shower first. You stink.”

House sighed resignedly. He kissed Wilson, his lips brushing his lover’s. Then his tongue flicked out and licked the tip of Wilson’s nose, causing the other man to give a startled giggle.

“Okay, no shower.” Wilson stood up, putting his beer bottle on the coffee table. “But I am going to get some baby wipes.”

House smirked.

Had Taub murdered anybody?

Whatever.


	11. S7 x 19  The Last Temptation of Godot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assuming time is not a fixed construct, and that Beckett had a hand in this. Dialogue fic.

"House, how long have we been standing here?"

"I--I don't know, Wilson. It feels like a long time. Or the biggest deja vu I've ever experienced." 

"At least a week. Maybe more."

"So that's why I have to pee so bad."

"And why are we holding chickens? I hate chickens!"

(Long silence)

"Thank God. I dropped the chicken. See, Wilson? Nothing happened."

(Long silence)

"But what if I drop the chicken and the world ends? There's got to be a reason we're holding chickens!"

"Wilson, life is random. Drop the chicken. If the world ends, at least we'll be somewhere other than this hallway."

(Long silence, followed by clucks and clicking chicken feet)

''Is that--Masters? Is she walking away? "

"Good riddance. You see, Wilson? Dropping the chickens made everything better."


	12. S7x23, Moving On - A Few Minutes Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After House crashed the car into Cuddy's house.
> 
> A taste of fluffy goodness to wash the taste out of our mouths.

House snapped off the television and flipped the remote onto the side table.

“Did you believe that shit?”

Wilson was speechless. After a moment or two, he stammered, “What-what-what the FUCK did we just watch?” He turned to House. “You drove a car into Cuddy’s house because she had a _date_?”

“Fuck that noise,” House snapped, pouring himself a large glass of bourbon. “I’m a goddamn _doctor_. I would have known I could have killed Rachel and maybe the rest of them. Not to mention owing millions in property damage, getting arrested and spending the next twenty years in jail. AND losing my license. What were they thinking?”

Wilson poured himself a large glass of bourbon, even though he hated bourbon.

“They forgot to think ages ago. But, the part at the end on the beach could be a hallucination, House.”

“They already did that in ‘Locked In’. And ‘No Reason’ was one big hallucination. This show has become an enormous recycling bin.” House took a large gulp of booze and stood. “What I _don’t_ get is how did I get to a tropical island so fast, without there being a BOLO on me and me getting arrested at the airport?” He grabbed his cane and began pacing around the living room.

“Definitely a hallucination. Or a dream.”

"Been there, done that."

Wilson pondered. “Or really crappy writing. There’s been a ton of crappy writing. That thing with the two kids grilling you about Cuddy? Yeah, like two kids are going to give a crap about some old guy’s feelings.”

“I’m not old, Wilson.”

“You’re older than me.”

“Remember that time where I hallucinated having sex with Cuddy and ended up in the loony bin?” House paused. “Oh, God, no, please don’t have them pull THAT one again. Wait, I’ll have been sitting in chair out of my mind on Vicodin and dreamed the whole thing.” He scratched his head. “That reminds me—why did the beginning start at night when I crashed the car in broad daylight? Oh, God…it _will_ be a hallucination. I’ll have a brain tumor from that experimental drug.”

Wilson smiled. “Or you’ll be dead from a Vicodin overdose and the whole next season will be your ghost haunting Princeton Plainsboro.” Wilson made a ghost noise. “Wooo-oooo-oooo! Oh my God, _did you see that_? It looked like—it looked like  Greg House!”

“Screw you, Wilson.” House sighed. “I’m sorry Cuddy’s gone. Good times, having an affair with you while I was dating her. Now I’m just your boyfriend.”

“ _There’s_ something you’ll never see. Unless the hallucination took place in your hospital bed. With me in it.” Wilson put down his glass and opened his arms wide. “Come ‘ere.”

House set his cane aside and sank down wearily next to Wilson, leaning over into his outstretched arms, letting Wilson cradle him like a child.

“So, what do you think is gonna happen?” Wilson asked softly, stroking House’s hair.

House took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Okay, here’s what I think: It’s going to be a hallucination. I’ll drive by her house and be completely freaked because the house is intact. Maybe there’s a for sale sign outside.”

“A for sale sign that fast?”

“Hey, time has no meaning for those people.  _Or_ , I’ll be at death’s door from a Vicodin overdose; you break into my apartment and call for the paramedics. Then it turns out I also have an experimental tumor in my brain—or they could go with the tumor thing to explain why I’ve been so out of control lately.” He looked up at Wilson. “The whole thing took place in my mind while I was having brain surgery to get the tumor out. By the way, why did the tumors only grow in my leg when I was shooting up the drug into my bloodstream?”

“Don’t think about it.” Wilson tickled House’s ear.

“Hey, quit it! But if I’m crazy, they’d have to send me to Mayfield. Been there, done that. Or jail. Been there, done that.” He craned his head upward for a kiss. Wilson bent down and kissed him gently, first on the forehead, then on the lips.

“I said, don’t think about it. Then you’ll _really_ go crazy.”

“Been there, done that.”

Wilson stretched and yawned. “How about we go in the bedroom and try to forget this thing ever happened?”

House was grinning. “Been there, done that.”

“Yeah, but it’s more fun than watching you get your panties in a twist.” Wilson helped House to his feet and embraced him for another kiss. This one definitely meant business. House kissed back, his eyes shut with pleasure.

“This would be so much better than anything we’ve seen,” House muttered.

“Yeah,” Wilson said, helping House down the hall.

“Promise me you didn’t DVR the damn thing.”

“Oops—I forgot. No big whoop.”

Together they went into the bedroom.

 


	13. S8x2, Transplant - One Hour Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened when House returned to the hospital. Fluff

Foreman walked by House’s office door, and stopped in his tracks.  Damn, he never should have had House released from prison!  _No good deed goes unpunished_ , he thought, simultaneously hearing his father’s voice: _And if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins._ Oh, shut up, Dad.  
  
“Holy crap,” Foreman yelled, opening the officer door.  “What have you _done_ , House?” He lowered his voice.  He was the boss now.  “After sticking my neck out for you, getting you back at the hospital, getting you a job, getting your office back— _this_ is how you repay me?” He waved a hand around the office.  
  
Which was thoroughly trashed.  The Eames recliner lay on its side, books were scattered on the floor, the waste basket was overturned—it looked like the work of an unusually clumsy, drunken burglar.  
  
House and Wilson blinked up at him from the floor.  Both of their mouths were red and raw from kissing.  They were both panting with exertion.  Wilson’s tie had been tossed on top of the tower lamp.  His shirttails were pulled out.  He had an enormous hickey on his neck.  House was naked from the waist up, and if Foreman hadn’t interrupted them, House would probably have been naked from the waist down in no time.  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Wilson, who was lying on top of House, was favoring his right wrist.  
  
“Am I violating my parole by violating him?” House asked.  “He’s a felon, too.”  
  
Foreman gave a resigned sigh.  “Look, guys, I…”  He paused and thought for a moment.  “Could you do this in _Wilson_ _’s_ office from now on?  He has a wooden door.”  
  
“Gotcha,” said Wilson, as House gave Foreman a thumbs up and a wide grin.  
  
“Carry on.” Foreman closed the door, shaking his head.  Tomorrow morning he was going to hear about this from the cleaning staff.


	14. S8x3 Charity Case - Later That Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NC-!7!
> 
> This was written for Dee_Laundry. Wilson finds out the Devil's gonna wear his red shoes.

“Oh, oh God, oh yes, oh yeah, oh yeah, strut baby, strut!”  
  
“OW!  OUCH!  OW! Jesus Christ, House, at least let me sit down!”  
  
“No.” House stopped mid-stroke, fixing Wilson with a bleary-eyed stare.  “The way your hips move in those things…oh my god…walk across the room again…oh yeah, yeah…”  
  
“House, Adam’s shoe size is half the size of mine! I’m in pain!”  Wilson hobbled painfully across his office, supporting himself by holding on to his desk.  “The things I do for you.”  Wilson was in his underwear, legs bare, his feet practically folded in half to squeeze into Adam’s bright red high heels.  
  
“I like the pain.” House’s voice was husky with lust.  “I like to watch the edges of your feet bulging from where those hot red stilettos gouge into your instep You have great gams.” He continued stroking himself, sliding down lower on Wilson’s couch.  “Gimme your leg.”  
  
“You expect me to stand on one foot in these instruments of torture?” Wilson swayed across the room, barely keeping his balance.  He collapsed on the couch, relieved that at least some of the agony had lifted.  He swung his bare right leg over House’s left leg, making sure to rub House’s groin. House threw back his head on the couch and moaned, shifting his exposed crotch under Wilson’s limb.  Then House leaned forward, lifting Wilson’s leg and licking Wilson’s insole.  Now _that_ felt good, despite the pain.  But Little Jimmy was too preoccupied with the mind-bending suffering to do more than give a faint echo.  
  
“Please,” Wilson tried to whimper in a sexy voice, “Take the shoe off, please.”  
  
“I love it when you beg.” House slid his hand down Wilson’s leg, gently moving his body against Wilson, until he came to the ankle.  Then he slowly took off the red shoe.  Well, prying it off was a better way to describe it, since Wilson’s foot was firmly wedged into the Red Shoe Of Death.  Suddenly the shoe popped off.  House held it under his nose and inhaled deeply.  
  
“All these years,’ Wilson gasped, “and I never knew you had a foot fetish.”  
  
“I have a women’s’ high heeled shoe fetish,” House corrected him, licking the side of the shoe.  “Oh, this is expensive leather,” he growled.  “Move it.”  
  
Wilson lifted his leg back, his foot throbbing, deep red lines cutting into his insole, his toes bright red.  House took the red shoe and slid his penis into it.  As Wilson watched in disbelief, House fucked the shoe.  He came with an explosive gasp, holding the shoe tightly.  Then he dropped his head, panting, and let the shoe fall to the ground.  
  
“I’m not doing this again,” Wilson snapped, working the other shoe off his right foot.   
  
There was a knock on the office door.  
  
On aching, unsteady feet, Wilson made his way across his office to the door..  
  
Only to find Foreman standing on the other side.  Foreman took in the scene with a glance.  
  
“I see the other shoe dropped,” Foreman said, and gently closed the door.  Outside Wilson heard him say, “What the fucking fuck?” to himself.


	15. S8x4  Risky Business -The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After House's unethical conduct, Wilson has the events of 'Moving On' very much on his mind. A bedtime conversation. Genre: angst

“House, you really are a turd.” Wilson lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Is that supposed to get me hot?” House tried to touch Wilson’s foot with his own under the covers, but Wilson pulled it away.  
  
“No, I mean it, House.  I don’t get you.”  
  
“Of course you do.” House lightly stroked Wilson’s arm. Wilson moved out of reach.  Then Wilson rolled over on his side, up on one elbow, looking down at House.  House was naked under the steel-gray sheets, the morning light highlighting the lines and wrinkles on his face.  
  
“No, I don’t.” Wilson sighed.  “You’ve changed.”  
  
“I haven’t.”  House’s gaze turned wary.  “Is this going to be a lecture?  ‘Cause if it is, I’m going to go make some oatmeal.”  
  
“House, do you understand what you’ve done?  At _all_?” Wilson looked at his partner’s face in an unsettling way.  Wilson’s expression was ice cold.   
  
“I went to prison, for God’s sakes.”  
  
“You  never thought about what you did to Cuddy and Rachel?”  
  
“Of course I did.  Let us never speak of it again.” House again reached for Wilson.  Wilson flinched.  
  
“Not now, House.  Rachel wasn’t there, but she came home to…nothing.  No, not nothing.  Chaos.  Her home gone, her mother going crazy, the police…” Wilson sighed.  “She had nightmares for months.  For all I know, she still does.  What does a toddler know about insane people driving their cars into their mother’s house?”  
  
House averted his eyes, staring at Wilson’s upper arm. “I didn’t—“  
  
“And Cuddy.  She lost almost everything.  She was as traumatized as Rachel.  More.  Lisa told me she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing your car coming at her.”  
  
“I knew they left the—“  
  
“That doesn’t make it RIGHT!”  
  
“If you’re trying to give me a guilt trip, you’re doing a good job.” House let out a long breath, and rolled over so that his back faced Wilson. House tugged up the sheet over his shoulder, so that only the back of his head could be seen.  
  
“Why do you think I didn’t visit you in prison?”  
  
“You were afraid of being gang-raped in the big house?”  
  
“Cut the crap.  I wanted to throttle you.  Looking into Rachel’s eyes, seeing that terror and confusion, Cuddy not knowing what to do next—and you don’t give a flying fuck. You’ve never asked.  They had to move in with Arlene.”  
  
“Now there’s a deal with the devil.” House’s voice was muffled.  
  
“Cuddy couldn't take Arlene telling her that she was right, that you were a no-good sonuvabitch. Cuddy had to move into a hotel and look for another job.  She couldn’t stand staying at the hospital.  Do you know that every single inch reminded her of you? There wasn’t one foot of that place that you hadn’t been with her.  She quit and took an administrative job in—no, you don’t have the right to know. It wasn't easy for her, House. Everyone knew what happened..”  
  
“Oh, God.”  
  
“Now you’ve had Adams destroy the entire ortho lab with a bat. Is that what you’ve learned?  Violence is the best solution?”  
  
“ _You_ punched _me_ ,” came the response.  
  
“It wasn't enough.  House, you used to have some compassion, some sort of, I don’t know, check on the worst part of your nature. Other people didn’t see that, but I did.  Now, the worst part of you is all you are.”  
  
“Not all.” House did not turn around.  
  
“You’ve acted like you wanted to be punished, but let’s face it, House, you haven’t been punished as much as the people around you.  Including me.  I don’t know if I can stay with someone who does the kind of things you do.”  
  
“Please stay.” House’s back was still to Wilson. His voice was choked.   
  
Wilson rolled over again and stared at the ceiling.


	16. S8x5 Parents - Much Later That Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after House returned from spending the evening with Foreman in Atlantic City.

House smelled the pizza standing in the hall outside his front door. He felt slightly guilty for tricking Wilson into giving Foreman the tickets. But Wilson was used to taking his crap. An insincere apology tomorrow and it would all be okay.

Wilson wasn’t there. House breathed a sigh of relief. The place was immaculate, even tidier than it had been since House had left. The remainder of the pizza sat in its box on the kitchen table, and there were a few empty beer cans in the trash. Wilson knew House didn’t sort his recycling.

With a happy, drunken grin, House sat down at his piano to noodle a bit. It would relax him enough to go to sleep.

There was something wrong. The lid over the keys wouldn’t open. House pulled, then pushed, but it wouldn’t give. He looked closely at the edge of the lid, and saw a few tiny blobs.

Superglue.

Damn, Wilson was petty. House was going to give him serious shit in the morning. His leg stung, so he went into the bedroom to get a few Vicodin. There were three bottles, two of them full “for emergencies.”

House popped off the top—that is, he tried to pop off the top. Then he tried to unscrew it. Nada. He turned the bottle over and looked at the underside of the cap.

Superglue.

Shit, this was unfair. He could get his piano fixed, but messing with his pain medication? That was going too far. He snatched up the portable phone from the bedside, only to have the whole unit come up with it, the cords pulling books and the light off the bedside table. “Fuck!” He dropped the phone on the bed, furious now, and dialed Wilson’s number. Voicemail. Of course. Sanctimonious prick.

House stomped back into the living room, only to find the other phone was glued to the base. 

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. No, it couldn’t be—that would be too evil—House looked up. And gasped.

His Stratocaster clung to the ceiling.

Superglue.


	17. S8x7 Dead And Buried - Two Days Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened when House bailed on clinic duty.

Foreman felt good about his decision. Thirty clinic hours was a decent punishment, even if there were times he felt like picking up the phone, calling the police and getting it over with. The hospital had been so peaceful without House around. And the overall number of lawsuits had dropped dramatically. Now Foreman was going to have to increase the legal budget.

Naturally House wasn't doing clinic duty; he was probably in his office playing with rubber bands. Or himself. Foreman looked in the office. No House. None of the fellows were in the office, either. Okay, so House and Wilson were probably playing the pink oboe in Wilson’s office. Sex was not a good enough reason to miss clinic duty. It crossed Foreman’s mind that it had been way too long since he’d sex. _Maybe that sexy hospital records administrator…she was a stone fox..._

Wilson’s office was empty, too. Foreman knew that House had signed in, he had to be in this hospital somewhere. He ran down a list of places to check: morgue, coma patients floor, pediatrics—

His attention was caught by the sounds of grunts and groans in the nurse’s linen closet. Dammit, why did those two have to do it all over the goddamned hospital? Did Wilson need a more comfortable office couch? What? Foreman grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

“Oh my GOD!” yelped Park, leaping back from Adams. Their lab coats were on the floor, and both of them had their blouses open. Foreman was slightly surprised that Park had really nice tits. He sighed.

“Carry on, ladies.” He shut the door again. Dammit, who cared where House was, anyway? Foreman had much more important things to do. He returned to his office.

There was a small crowd of doctors, nurses and patients standing outside of it, some giggling, one man making a gagging noise.  
“Excuse me, people, please move away from my office!” Foreman pushed through the throng.

To find the door locked. Even though he knew it was futile, Foreman shook the doorknob. Damn those two, they hadn’t closed the blinds! House and Wilson were grappling behind the couch, on his office floor! Thank the good Lord in Heaven they both had all of their clothes on.

House and Wilson stopped at the sound of Foreman pounding on the door. They lay still. Foreman could hear Wilson stifling a giggle.

Foreman turned and glared at the crowd. “If you want to get fired, stay right here. If you don’t want to get fired, get moving!” The doctors and nurses dispersed, and the patients were cowed enough by Foreman’s glare to scamper away. He turned back.

"House--"

“You can’t stop our love!” House yelled from behind the couch.

**“FORTY HOURS OF CLINIC DUTY!”**

Damn, why had he ever taken this job?


	18. S8X8 Perils of Paranoia - Later That Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!!!
> 
> What happened after House showed Wilson his gun.

House closed the closet door on the gun and his father’s ceremonial sword. He felt tired and sad. Maybe he shouldn’t have lied to Wilson, but he had to win the bet.

There was a strong knocking at the apartment door. House opened it, to find Wilson in the hall, eyes wide. Before House could stop it, Wilson grabbed his head, kissing House passionately. “Oh, God, House,” Wilson gasped. “That gun—you and that gun—you have no idea how hot it made me. That’s why I had to leave your office. I wanted to take you right there.”

House grinned. “Wow, if I knew firearms were that much of an aphrodisiac, I’d have confiscated some of Paranoia Guy’s collection. But the gun was fake—“

_“Bullshit.”_ Wilson’s eyes glittered. He slid off his overcoat and let it drop to the floor, pulling the door closed on both of them, forcing House slightly backwards. “No fake gun has that kind of heft.” He kissed House, hard, again, pulling off his tie with his left hand. “I love how dangerous you are, how close to the edge. I’m going to make you feel so good—“ Wilson kept pushing House backwards, until House was pushed against the corner of the couch. House could feel Wilson’s erection through his pants. House started to undo the buttons of his shirt, but Wilson batted his hands away. “No, no,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “Let me do it. Sit down. Let me do everything.”

Now this sounded mighty fine. “Would you start with doing the dishes?”

“No, but I’ll clean up afterwards.”

House eased himself down on the couch, long legs spread, a wide smile almost cracking his face in two halves. “Wilson, you’re _hot_ when you’re hot.” 

Wilson knelt in front of him and shoved House’s legs apart. House winced at a twinge in his thigh.

“I keep seeing you putting that pencil into the gun,” Wilson gasped, undoing the buttons of House’s jeans with dexterous fingers. “The way it went in and out, in and out—I thought about you going in and out of me—“

“Seduction by office supplies. I’ll keep that in mind,” House said, as Wilson’s hands rubbed at his boxer briefs. “Oh, my God!”

“You win, House, you always win,” Wilson parted the slit on House’s briefs and drew out House’s very hard penis. “You’re consistent, I’ll say that.” Wilson leaned down and gave the tip a delicate lick. House gripped either side of the leather sofa cushion under him and moaned. Wilson held the prick delicately in one hand, ever so gently licking and sucking. Again, House started to undo his shirt, but Wilson again pushed his hands away before he got to the fourth button.

“You have to let me do it,” Wilson panted. He again inclined his head and took all of House’s member into his mouth, gagging slightly. House’s body was turning into jelly, every bit of sensation concentrated in his crotch. Wilson pulled his head back.

“You want it, don’t you?”

House nodded.

“How bad do you want it? How bad?”

“Don’t…ask…stupid…questions…”

“How bad?” Wilson resumed sucking, rolling his tongue around until House thought he would scream.

“Bad, okay?” he yelled. “I want it bad!"

_“Then you’ll get it!”_ Suddenly Wilson leapt to his feet, grabbed House’s shirt on either side and pulled it down to his elbows, simultaneously ripping the t-shirt open down House's shoulders. House was pinned by his own clothes. He was trapped on the couch with his penis sticking out.

Wilson stood up, wiping his mouth, triumph lighting his features. “You got it.” He gathered up his coat and tie and started toward the door. Then he turned back. 

He took out his phone and took a picture of House.

“Oh, and by the way, I win.”


	19. S8x14  Love Is Blind - Later That Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened when House showed Wilson his birthmark.

“House, why did you fake that birthmark?” Wilson said, lightly caressing House’s shoulder. They lay in bed, early morning sun filtering through the closed curtains. “What possible reason could you have had?”

“I wanted to know what the jackass really thought,” House answered. His voice had a hint of anger in it. “Calling me a pill-popping sociopath, and then embracing me as his son? What an asshole. And why was my mom faking all that hippie-shit crap? She goes to one peace rally and suddenly she’s Hanoi Jane. She was June Cleaver, give me a break.”

“Then why didn’t you want to see her?” Wilson was genuinely perplexed. “You always said she loved you unconditionally.”

“Not unconditionally enough to pretend Dad—excuse me, my _not_ -Dad—from doing his Great Santini routine on me. If it happened now, somebody would have called Child Services. Especially her.”

“She didn’t know any better, House.”

“Yeah, yeah. Ward Cleaver could have been buggering Beaver for all we know.” House shrugged. “I told that Scottish jerk off that I respected my father. The look on his face…” He rolled over so that he faced Wilson. “Thanks for not blowing my cover.”

“Thanks for not using indelible ink. Have you ever tasted that stuff?”

House raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “Have you ever tasted that stuff?”

“We all have our secret past, House, even if it is fake.” Wilson lifted the blanket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get the rest of that red-colored Karo syrup off.”

“Be my guest.” House grinned as Wilson dove under the covers. Now this was unconditional love.


	20. S7x22  After Hours - A Word From House's Leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House's leg is jubilant to have a starring role! Warning: it's got a potty mouth--or, whatever it speaks with.

HOW FUCKING COOL WAS LAST NIGHT’S EPISODE? 

AND THE WEEK BEFORE THAT? 

No, we’re not talking about the story, the angst, the script, whatever.

**I GOT MAJOR MAJOR SCREEN TIME! OH, YEAH, BABY, THE LEG RULES! WOO-HOO!**

Front and fucking CENTER, man, they showed my huge scar, showed that House ISN’T IN FUCKING PSYCHOSOMATIC PAIN—EAT TURDS, “CONVERSION DISORDER” FUCKTARDS! IT’S PAIN! SHOOTING, SCORCHING, PAIN! YOU CAN EAT MY ASS--wait, I don't have an ass, the ass lives above me--YOU CAN EAT MY KNEE!

For almost two seasons I’ve had to pretend the pain barely existed, that is wasn’t so bad. Do you have ANY IDEA what that is like? Huh? I wanted to BOOGIE when House started downing the Vicodin again, but I couldn’t because I’m only one leg and he’d fall over and there’d be hell to pay.

As I once remarked:

**IF YOU HAVE A HUGE PIECE OF MUSCLE AND BLOOD VESSELS AND FAT REMOVED, WOULDN’T YOU FEEL IT JUST A TAD?**

Gotta admit, I was _begging_ for a stunt leg during the episode where he’s working me out with the rubber band or whatever the fuck that thing was. Damn, I deserve an EMMY for those scenes! You don’t have to be a Method Actor, all you need is a GINORMOUS CHUNK CUT OUT OF YOUR THIGH!

The other leg bitched about how I was getting all of the good scenes, and I was like, “Look, jerk-off, they see you all the time. Let the limb have his moment, yo!” (Shit. Have to stop hanging around Greg Yaitanes.)

But if I had to endure screaming hideous pain **BECAUSE I HAD A HUGE PIECE OF** —oh, crap, there I go again, but I’m still pissed about it—it was worth it for these two episodes! Free at last, free at last, God almighty I’m free at last! Yeah, that fucking scar of mine is HORRIFYING, isn’t it? BECAUSE THOSE ASSHOLES TOOK A HUGE—did I already say that? 

Anyway, there was NO WAY they were going to cut me off, I was going to go kicking and screaming (well, not screaming, technically, because I don’t have a mouth) if they pulled that shit.

To squelch any rumors, I was signed for Season 8. With no fucking pay cut. Shit, I should get hazard pay just for walking around, because of the HUGE...oops. 

I admit, those were special effects when he was taking the tumors out of me. I have my limits. But I was too preoccupied with basking in the glow of STARDOM to care! Two whole episodes revolved around ME! 

**House’s leg! ME!**

At the end of the day, it’s all about the work.

No, it isn't. It's about the close-ups. Suck me, Charlie Sheen.


	21. S8x19  The C-Word - The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened when House returned to his office.

House whistled as he walked into his office. He knew that Wilson would love the video. And if he didn’t love it, he wasn’t Wilson. House dropped his backpack on the Eames chair and sat at his desk. Ah, there was a case. Just the thing to help wash the images of the past weeks out of his mind. He opened the file.

But…that smell…oh, God, that smell…

He immediately knew the source. House slid open the drawer where he kept his Jenga set, furry cuffs, and porn. He almost gagged.

Two large, sodden, soiled adult diapers were on top, wrapped together with a red ribbon. Fastened to the ribbon was one of those godawful kittens sleeping together cards. In bright pink letters, it said: “Thank You.”

House grinned. This was gonna be fun.


	22. S8x20 - Post Mortem - Missing Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House waits in the car while Wilson disports himself with two hookers. He gets tired of waiting.

The first thing he was aware of, besides his leg, was that his butt hurt from sitting in the car seat so long. And that the inside of the car smelled like Moutain Dew and Doritos. It was still dark out. He checked his watch: 4:15. 

Screw this, he was going to go in, shove somebody over, and get a few hours’ shut-eye.

He opened the motel room door slowly and quietly, and stopped. The bathroom light was on, dimly illuminating the scene before him.

Clothes were strewn across the dirty beige carpet. A bra hung from the inside doorknob There were two full size beds in the shabby room. Two women were asleep in one. The bartender was snoring. 

Wilson was rolled up in the other bed, the covers pulled into a sort of ball around him. House smiled. Wilson always stole the covers at home.

Not all of Wilson was covered, however. One foot and his bare butt peeked out of the dingy sheets. The bare butt matched the bald cap on Wilson’s head.

House had been going to crawl into bed with Wilson. Instead, he took out his phone and took pictures.

Wait ‘til he put them on the hospital website.

House closed the door and returned to the car.


	23. S8x23 - Everybody Dies - Three Days Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened during House and Wilson's road trip.

“Oh, man, my back.” Wilson had rolled over from his side onto his back. His back didn’t like it one bit. The mattress was lumpy, sagging in the middle. Their motel room had dark “rustic” wooden paneling and the would-be-jaunty red plaid curtains were drawn. The sun had risen, but there was barely any light in the room. It smelled like wood and must. “House? You awake?”

“Yeah,” came an exhausted groan from the other bed. “Next time, can we please keep going until we find a room with a queen-sized bed?”

“It’s not my fault this dump only has twins. It has a kitchenette."

"Oh, god. A man who carries Nutrisystem freeze-dried dinners in his saddlebag."

"They're Nutrisystem for Men. It's the best I could do. You can live on junk food, House, but I can't." He paused. "I’ve never had sex in a twin bed before.”

“Except with yourself.”

“You want to cuddle, House, don’t you?”

“Fuck off.” 

“That was last night.”

“Suck me.”

“That was last night.”

“Bite me—and no, that wasn’t last night. For a guy with cancer, you’ve got great staying power.”

Wilson grinned to himself. “I’m Cancer Man! My magic white blood cell count makes me able to do anything! Including fucking you into the mattress in a creaky twin bed.” He paused. “Cancer Man. Maybe I can get a t-shirt.”

“James Wilson is merely your secret identity. Mild-mannered wuss by day, super-powered sex stud by night.”

Although he couldn’t see House, Wilson heard an amused snort.

“Shift over, I’ll be right there. I gotta pee.”

Wilson heard the squeaks of the springs across the room, and House making little “ouch” noises as he groped to the bathroom. After a minute, Wilson heard the sound of pee and:

“Motherfucker! That hurts!”

Wilson allowed himself a real laugh. After all of this time, House knew what it felt like to have a really bad beard burn down there.


End file.
